


Winning Smile

by Jay_eagle



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Board Games, Competition, Frottage, M/M, Monopoly (Board Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a Tumblr anon, who prompted 'D/M - Douglas and Martin play Monopoly'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winning Smile

“I still can’t believe you’ve never played this game,” Douglas commented for about the fifth time as he unpacked the board. “It was a rainy bank holiday staple in the Richardson household.”

 

Martin shrugged, watching Douglas laying out the banknotes.  “Simon and Caitlin had it, I think, when I was too little to learn how it worked,” he said, “but they fought so badly about it every single time they played that Dad took it to a car boot sale.” He picked up the models of the car and the top hat, and turned them over curiously. “Dad said it was the only way to avoid world war three in our house.”

 

“Hmm.” Douglas found the dice. “Roll to see who goes first, then.” His score of eight beat Martin’s three. “I get to choose my playing piece. I’ll be the… car.” He reached over and twitched the silver vehicle from between Martin’s fingers, the brush of Douglas’ palm sending a spark of heat through Martin’s veins that distracted him for a moment.

 

Martin tried to wrench his mind back to the game. “So what do I play as?” he asked. “Is there… oh, I don’t know - um, an aeroplane?” 

 

His attempt at casualness didn’t fool Douglas, who laughed teasingly. “No planes,” Douglas said. “Here. You be the iron… that way I can keep borrowing yours every trip.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Martin jibed. “Go on then. You start.” 

 

He watched as Douglas rolled and counted his way around the board, buying the Angel Islington as a starter. To Martin’s immense chagrin, he then rolled exactly the same number, and groaned as Douglas’ most sharklike grin spread across his face. 

 

“Rent, please,” Douglas commanded, looking every inch the cat that was getting the cream. Martin forked over the money with a playful growl. 

 

“Don’t get cocky, now,” he commented. “That was just the first move…”

 

Three hours passed, though - by which time Martin was about ready to tear his hair out. “You’re sure you haven’t stacked these dice?” he snapped, only half-joking. “I just can’t think how else you’ve managed to get me to land on your purples AGAIN.”

 

Douglas grinned. On the pretext of explaining various minutiae of the rules to Martin, he’d gradually slipped round so they were no longer sitting opposite each other. Instead, he was right next to where Martin sat on the floor, cross-legged by his sofa, their thighs touching. “Pay up,” Douglas ordered. “Unless you want to GIVE up.”

 

“I do not!” Martin sounded scandalised. “Crieffs don’t quit.” His lofty tones were somewhat spoilt by the need to count out part of his fine in £1 notes, though, and he handed over the sheaf of yellow paper with ears burning pink at the tips. “You never said the game would take this long,” he pointed out, trying to wipe the smirk off Douglas’ face and failing.

 

“It doesn’t, usually.”

 

“Oh.” Martin sounded pleased. “So I’m putting up a good fight, then?”

 

Douglas chuckled. “It usually takes much  _longer_ ,” he said. It was the truth… and it had the delightful effect of making Martin splutter with indignation. Douglas fanned himself with the notes of Martin’s fine, then took the dice. “Want to surrender?” 

 

“Never!”

 

Another hour later, and Martin had ceased to look defiant and was simply pouting. “So… the game just goes on like this? Until I’m totally out of cash?” He had barely any notes remaining, and almost all his properties were mortgaged. 

 

Douglas nodded. “Yep.”

 

“But… but…” Martin looked helpless, waving a hand that he then let fall into Douglas’ lap where his partner was now leaning against him, quietly enjoying the proximity along with the imminent victory. “But that’s just  _mean_.”

 

“That’s Monopoly,” Douglas said, more throatily than he’d intended. “Now pay me,” he said. “You’ve landed on Regent Street. And with a hotel, that’s… £1275.”

 

“That’s nearly all my money,” Martin moaned. 

 

“Good!” Douglas reached to take Martin’s cash from in front of him, but Martin swatted his hand away.

 

“Get out,” he ordered. “That’s my money!”

 

“ _Was_  your money.” Douglas caught at Martin’s protective hands. “Gimme.”

 

“Douglas - wait -” Douglas scrabbled at Martin’s fingers playfully, trying to pry open his hands. “Oi!” Martin suddenly turned and knocked Douglas sideways, taking advantage of the way the FO had been leaning on him to unbalance his seat on the floor.

 

Douglas kicked out as Martin sent him sprawling, knocking the board and all the pieces flying, hotels and houses scattering all over the place. “Oops,” Martin said insincerely, and pounced. He pinned Douglas’ shoulders to the floor and bent to kiss him, admonishing him between nips. “You - are a - pain - a pest - so rude -”

 

Douglas wriggled, but Martin rapidly had his wrists pinioned. “You give up?” Douglas asked nonetheless, a trifle breathlessly. “I win?”

 

“I still have… a bit of money…” Martin fibbed. Douglas looked up. Martin’s toes were busy behind them - it looked as if he was trying to steal some of the notes from the bank with his feet as he lay on top of Douglas.

 

“I can see what you’re doing, you know,” Douglas said drily, trying to fight back the rush of arousal pounding through him at the feel of Martin pressing him into the carpet.

 

“What’s that?” Martin tried to look innocent and bent to bite and kiss at Douglas’ neck.

 

“You’re - you’re stealing -” Douglas’ brain stalled as Martin’s hot breath raised the hairs on his nape.

 

“I’m a captain. Captains don’t steal.”

 

“That’s - patently untrue -” Douglas arched his neck and closed his eyes in spite of himself, feeling Martin’s hips grinding downwards into his own. 

 

“Is it now?” Martin sniggered, and the rustling noises ceased as he gave up on trying to defraud the bank in favour of rhythmically thrusting against Douglas instead.

 

“Yes -” Douglas gasped, no longer sure if he was offering encouragement or agreement. “Martin…”

 

“Mmm?” Martin leant to kiss the FO’s trapped palms, continuing to deny Douglas the use of his hands.

 

“You’re still losing,” Douglas countered, trying (and failing) to sound dignified.

 

Martin snickered. “Well, now, that’s where we - we’ll have to disagree -” he whispered. Douglas rocked up into him, excitement building deliciously. “We can  _both_  win…”

 

“I’m feeling generous -”

 

“Good -”

 

“Fuck, fuck - yes - no, wait,  _ow_!” Douglas had rolled uncomfortably onto something.

 

“What is it?” Martin didn’t stop moving.

 

Douglas wriggled, trying to work out what had suddenly jabbed his hip. “I think it’s the sodding dog,” he swore, making Martin burst out laughing - the vibration of which tipped them both abruptly and most agreeably over the edge.

 

(It was a relief to both of them that Arthur never did deduce quite why the notes from GERTI’s Monopoly set were mysteriously more rumpled-looking than they had been the time he’d previously played it.)


End file.
